


Out of Character

by Moonshine_Givens, Wargasms



Category: Actor RPF, Justified, Justified RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Character Bleed, Comfort Sex, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargasms/pseuds/Wargasms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim gets home after a long, hard day of work and he can still feel the weight of Raylan Givens on his shoulders. Walt tries to help him with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Character

**Author's Note:**

> HEY, GUNSLINGERS!  
> So. This is... hm. You know how I always bitch about the fact that there's no Tim/Walt fic to be found on the internet? So, we decided to do something about it. And... this is it.  
> This is no way reflects real life Timothy Olyphant and real life Walton Goggins, since, you know, we don't actually ever met them.  
> This is porn, basically, with a hint of plot. Just a hint.  
> Those boys are gorgeous so we hope you enjoy this!

The door slams shut, and he curses loudly. It wasn’t his intention, not really, to come home with such a dramatic attitude: he knows that, even for an actor, slamming doors is only cute when you’re a fifteen years old girl, not a grow ass forty five years old man. It’s just, tonight he feels more Raylan than Timothy, and the door slamming shut is just another sign to remind him of his ever troubled character.

It doesn’t help that he’s coming home to Boyd Crowder.

He likes the little arrangement they have, he really does. Those few crazy weeks in the year when they’re living and breathing Justified, away from their families and isolated from their friends, it’s good to have Walt’s company: they share a lot every single day; it helps Tim in his way to finding the right tone to Raylan, keeping him sharp; it makes their scenes together even more intense, more authentic; and Walton Goggins, as crazy as it sounds, is one of the few human beings that can actually take Tim’s bitching without killing him. So yes, it really works out.

If anyone asks, of course, Olyphant is going to say he stays for the amazing sex.

It’s not a lie.

He keeps stumbling towards the bedroom, eyes barely open, moving on muscle memory alone. Maybe consider himself Raylan Givens right now is a bit of a stretch: he may be closer to “The Walking Dead” zombies.

“Hey” he says to the man sitting on the bed, wearing thick reading glasses and with the bedside lamp still on – fuck, but it’s “let’s-study-Boyd-Crowder-until-our-eyes-are-bleeding” night. _Definitely not up for that_ , Tim thinks as he strips out of his jeans and t-shirt.

“I'm about to take over this space.” he says, the Kentucky drawl still incrusted on his speech.

He can feel Raylan all over. He tried to wash him off for twenty minutes under a hot stream before coming home, but he can’t, not really: every tired sigh, every aching muscle, every spoken word talks about a miserable past that Timothy didn’t live.

To add more joy to this already lovely night, Walton barely raises his eyes as he walks in, still glued to the pages of a goddam script: “Hey there. I don’t get a good night kiss then?”

Tim just huffs and sprawls on his back, now wearing only boxers, barely turning towards his friend. “You can come get one. Doesn’t seem like you were waiting up for me.” He knows he’s being childish, but he’s also fucking tired and weird on his own skin. He flicks at the papers, annoyed at himself and Walt simultaneously.

If the raised eyebrow Walt directs at him is any indicator, the man is totally unimpressed. When he speaks, he’s using Boyd’s voice, and Tim knows it’s his way of calling him out on behaving like Raylan: “Now, now, Timothy, you won't grow resentful feelings over the serious approach I have towards my own true vocation, do ya? Do you know how many lines my character gets per scene, boy?”

Timothy feels a shiver going up and down his body, both arousal and discomfort. The discomfort is quite understandable, he just spent fifteen hours in a set dealing with Boyd Crowder, he’s not in the mood to deal with him one more second. The arousal, though, is worrisome: if he’s that deep inside of Raylan’s mind set he’s finding Boyd’s voice arousing than he really needs to back off.

Be that as it may, he’ll be dammed if he’ll let his worries show to Goggins. He just snorts and snatches the papers out of the other man’s hand, tossing them on the floor on the other side of the bed.

“You have been home for how long now? Your vocation can wait.” There’s a second of hesitation that, Tim realizes, is not really his: he was never afraid of saying those things. Raylan is. “I need you.”

Raylan is broken and emotionally stunned, Timothy is a healthy man that is able to admit when in need of comfort. Still, still, he’s second guessing his words, and even as he curls up on his side to face Walt, even as he reaches a hand out to tug at the hip and bring the other man closer, even then there’s a red light going on his head that this is too much, too vulnerable, too close, that this man can’t be trusted and that he’ll end up bleeding and ruined.

Do not trust a Crowder, Raylan, even a sweet, brilliant, amazing Crowder. Specially a sweet, brilliant, amazing Crowder.

But this is not a Crowder. This is Walt, perfectly trustable Walt, crazy ass actor with a love for bizarre things, Walt that was raised by hippies and doesn’t like shaved women, Walt who likes to go scuba diving and always has the best weed.

Walt that is now sighing heavily, pretending to be tired of Tim’s antics, but it’s all bad acting, clearly fake even in the low light of the bedroom. He lies down on his side as well, facing Tim with attention for the first time tonight. Tim can see the sudden worry in his eyes, as the man takes on how he looks.

“Damn, you look tired.” His right hand is soon on Tim’s long hair, slim fingers massaging the scalp. “Didn’t you get any sleep in your trailer?”

 _This is real._ Tim has to close his eyes to believe it, though, pressing into the fingers. “Not even a few minutes’ worth.” is his tired answer. This is reality, not Harlan, this, this bed right here. Tim moves to wrap his arm around Walton’s waist, pressing his body along – the kiss they share is as natural as breathing, a stolen relief in the night.

“I’ll be okay.” Timothy hears himself saying out loud, no idea what the words actually mean, as if they’re in a foreign language.

Walton understands, it seems, he speaks the language Tim can’t decipher. His arms bring the other even closer, and there are suddenly so many sensations: Walton’s skin, Walton’s smell, Walton’s breath, Walton’s warmth under him – so many impressions of the _right now_. There’s Walton’s voice against his lips, sharing the same breath, low tone in the quiet room, and he’s saying “…maybe _you_ are way too devoted to your vocation…”

Tim wants to answer it, wants to say something just as light, he really does. But there’s no answer. They aren’t taking their words from a script.

“Too much talking. I've had enough talking today.”

With his eyes closed he can do this, he can kiss at Walt’s neck and jaw, he can move up and straddle his thighs, he can lean his weight on his forearm and take another kiss, this time slower.

He can feel the hands sliding over the back of his thighs and he can taste the warm mouth under him, but there’s something unreal about the whole thing. His brain is trying to cope with the lack of sleep and the fact he’s been living in a fantasy universe for most of his waken hours, and it turns out it can’t do it right now, it can’t deal with the gentle hands travelling his body, going over tired muscles slowly and comforting.

Tim feels as if something is cracking inside of him, and he’s about to pass out or cry while he kisses Boyd Crowder.

“Baby,” the man under him says, and thank god, there’s no Harlan accent in his voice. “You wanna stop?” Tim looks down at the man, and Walton is looking back. “I mean, I thought you wanted to sleep. This is not constructive to sleeping.”

He could stop, but he’s saying no before he thinks about it. He couldn’t just go to sleep like this – Raylan never sleeps.

“You’re the one who said sleep,” he says out loud instead. “I said I need you.” He slots his hips against Walt’s, pressing his hard on the thigh below him. How can he manage to get hard being so tired is beyond him. But there’s no doubt that, even with all the fatigue and confusion troubling his mind, he’s as aroused as always with Walton’s body, and he shows it by biting and sucking at that perfect bottom lip, caressing Walt’s jaw and neck, hands travelling down over the shoulders and the back.

Under him, Walton is just as hard, hands growing more demanding, sinking his nails at Tim’s back lightly and going further down to squeeze his ass. He’s not taking control of the kiss, though. Oddly, Tim can feel tenderness in even his more erotic touches, the sweetness with which Walton obscenely wraps his fingers around his sex. It’s disorienting, so much Tim’s head is spinning.

“What do you want?” Walton whisper against his shoulder, both demanding and careful, a walking and talking contradiction.

There’s no way for Tim to hold back the whining sound that escapes his throat, even as he tries to muffle it against Walt’s neck. He’s shuddering as he answers “Y-you. I… Christ, I want you… inside of me.”

And that shouldn’t be so hard to admit, there’s nothing wrong in that, nothing that Tim haven’t done a thousand times before. But it feels wrong tonight, not only to be the bitch, but also to want it so much, the need that is clear in his voice. It all feels wrong, except he knows it isn’t, he knows the shame and modesty is not really his.

He bites hard at Walt’s neck, trying to get away from the feelings threatening to choke him. Maybe he can deal if it’s more violent, more urgent: his hips arch up in Walton’s hands, his body rolls forward with need, he bites one more time, this time right at the hollow of his throat. “Fuck me.”

It’s clear the request gets Walt hot, and he doesn’t try to contain the moans. He strips Tim’s boxers fast, licking and biting and the amount of flesh exposed – shoulders, collarbones, nipples. His fingers are rubbing at Tim’s entrance, at first a light touch, just a tease.

“You wanna get fucked? Wants to ride me hard, that's it?”

That’s less emotional, that’s easier. Tim only has to spread his knees wider, pushing back at the fingers in his ass, nipping at the man bellow him: “A bit tired for that. Was kinda hoping you’d fuck me into the mattress.”

Walt turns him around with a hand in his waist, and they both almost fall out the bed, catching themselves in the last second. They’re laughing in the next moment, and it’s in this light mood that Walton pushes his middle finger deeper inside of Tim’s body, kneeling over the open legs. Tim can feel the sudden pressure opening him up, and it’s like he’s free from a weight all of the sudden: something heavy he’s not carrying anymore. The sight of Walt’s hard cock trapped against his boxer, pre-come visible as a stain is his only worry right now, all that matters. That and the hand that combs his hair back, the eyes that stare unblinking, the voice against his lips: “Tell me when you’re good, ‘kay?”

Tim kisses the hand caressing his face, doing a conscious effort to relax, even as the muscles flutter around the fingers moving inside. He realizes he’s holding the sheets under his body, body arching for contact. “M’good. More.” He’s not sure if he can take more just yet, but even the pain will be welcome, something to make the burning pleasure in his leaking cock backs a bit.

Walton makes a sound Tim knows already, this isn’t their first dance – he’s about to get fucked any second now, and the confirmation comes in the form a love bite against his collarbone that Walt would have thought twice about doing it if he wasn’t far gone. He’s trying to press his index finger alongside the middle one, but Tim can’t relax enough. In a moment, Walt is right there, warm and hard pressing his fingers up and licking down on his chest; on the next, Tim’s alone in the bed, suddenly cold and empty.

“We gonna need lube for that, baby, no way I'm fitting inside you dry.” Walt tells him.

Tim can’t help but growl in frustration, flopping boneless in the bed, his eyes tracking as the other man walks around the room. He’s self-conscious at first, but what the hell, he can jerk off on his own bed if he wants. Besides, it wouldn’t do any harm for Walton to hear him moan as his thumb swipes over the head of his cock, smearing the pre-come on his length.

Walt is an eye-for-an-eye kind of man: he stands by the foot of the bed, finally completely naked, rubbing lube over his hard cock and watching Tim with dark eyes. “You look too eager for a half sleeping old man…” he says as he finally comes back to bed, bodies fitting together.

“Who you callin’ old?” Tim answer, and he can still hear the shades of them hills in his voice. He doesn’t want to think about it, though, so he reaches down between the bodies to position the other’s cock, fingers loosely stroking it as he guides the head to his hole, his thighs bracing the hips over him so the angle is right. “And I’m probably more than half asleep right now, so you’ll have to do some work. C’mon.”

It’s meant to sound demanding, but it ends up sounding like a plead against Walt’s lips, just as the kiss Tim can’t stop himself from giving is yet more needy than he wanted.

Walt is not letting him get away, he’s holding him by the back of his thighs to get his ass even higher. Finally, finally, he’s sinking inside, and Tim can feel as every inch stretches the muscles, can feel as his body swallows the girth, not in control of the sounds coming out of his mouth. They went too fast, and it hurts as Walt slides in place, a burning pain, but Walton is kissing his lips in apology, licking inside his mouth, staying still as he waits for Tim’s sign.

Tim clenches his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to relax, his hands reaching up, pulling at Walt’s hair and melting into the kiss. Finally his body seems to accept that this is happening, that this is more pleasure than pain, and he bucks his hips, asking Walton silently to move.

Walt moves slowly at first, his hands traveling over legs, hips, stomach, teasing Tim’s cock and them holding him in a fist. His movements are long and sensual, and Tim can feel the cock getting inside deeper and deeper as Walt knells between his legs.

He tries rolling up into the thrusts, his hands fisting the sheets as heat pools in his guts. There are needy sobs escaping from the back of his throat at each stroke, and he wants faster, he wants more, Walt is teasing him, and he _needs_ …

“Beg for it, c’mon.” Walton says, and no, he can’t, it’ll be too much, he’ll be too vulnerable, he can’t just do that, this man’s not trustworthy, his cock’s filling all the spaces inside and he’s a liar, he’s darkness and coal and fire and he’ll destroy you…

“Tim, Tim, Timothy. It’s me.” It’s Walton whispering against his mouth, Walton fuckin’ Goggins, and that’s it, Tim breaks in an endless stream of “please” and “more”, and Walt is speeding up his thrusts, finding his hands and trapping them over the headboard by the wrists, restraining him with one single hand.

“Like. to. hear. you. beg...ging.” he says between grunts.

Tim can’t control himself any longer, he’s arching up to meet every thrust, tightening the muscles around the cock every time Walt bottoms out, gasping for air and sobbing his name: “Walton, please, God I… please, Walton, I'm, fuck...”

He knows he sounds desperate, but hell, he is desperate, and there’s no shame anymore, no walls he wants to keep up, no need to protect himself. He’s trembling and his balls are pulling up tight as he gets closer, movements erratic.

“Gonna come under me? Gonna... Tim!” hearing Walton say his name is better than a miracle, is the best thing ever, is his only salvation as the man fucks into him harder, pounding like a jackhammer, jerking him off faster as he gets even closer. “Timothy!”

Tim can only whimper and buck wildly before his muscles tense and he tightens up around the cock, shaking apart, body arching as he comes hot over Walt’s fingers and his own stomach.

“Walt… yes.” He looks up as Walton is coming hard inside of him, the spasms of his pleasure milking Goggins dry: it’s just Walt there, there’s no darkness, no coal, and the fire is the same good, wild fire he can recognize from Walt’s unique mind. There’s no pain.

Okay, maybe “no pain” is not exactly true: there’s the pain over his restrained wrists, the pain over his sore ass, the pain of taking Walton’s weight over his tired body. But he’s himself now, Timothy David Olyphant, actor. Not a marshal, not a cowboy, not a miner. He’s got a good life and every reason to lay here in this bad, a content smile on his face.

He laughs out loud, hands going to Walt’s hair. Goddammit, but Walton had just fucked him out of character.

Walt just looks down at him, a spark in his eyes. He kisses him lightly, going back to touching Tim with affection and care.

“Are you better now?”

Tim can barely feel his legs, there’s come all over his torso, and now that Walt is pulling off, there’s come leaking out of his ass. His worn-out body is complaining over the lack of sleep and the effort put in sex, there are lover bites all over his collarbone, red right now but soon to become purple.

“Yeah.” Tim answers without having to think about it, and he laughs again. “That was just what I needed.”

Walt seems to enjoy the view his granted with, the sound of his laugh. There’s joy in his eyes, and something meaningful and deep, but he only says out loud: “I suppose such a hard worker as yourself deserves a reward...”

“Thank you.” Tim says shamelessly, finally feeling that sleep will win him over, dirty as he is – he can barely keep his eyes open, so a shower will have to wait.

“Anytime, Tim. Sleep now.”

But honestly, the last thing he hears is his name in Walton’s voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading it!


End file.
